


The Life of the Dead

by Ysabetwordsmith



Series: Love Is For Children [25]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: #coulsonlives, Amnesia, Artificial Intelligence, Broken people, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Cognitive Dissonance, Competency, Consider Your Headspace, Current environment is supportive, Cyclic Amnesia, Dark Past, Depression, Dissociation, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Roller Coaster, Families of Choice, Family Feels, Flashbacks, Freedom, Friendship, Gen, Good and Evil, Healing, Heed Trigger Warnings, Human Experimentation, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Love, Medical Experimentation, Memories, Memory Loss, Mercy - Freeform, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, No Sex, Non-Consensual, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Non-Sexual Slavery, Non-sexual, Past Abuse, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Recovered Memories, Recovery, Repressed Memories, Safety, Self-Destruction, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Shame, Sibling Love, Suicidal Thoughts, Team as Family, Temporal Trauma, Time Skips, Torture, Trust, Trust Issues, Unconventional Families, Unethical Experimentation, internalized oppression, past imprisonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-04 19:02:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4149309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ysabetwordsmith/pseuds/Ysabetwordsmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky experiences life in fragments as his memory cycles through past and present.</p><p>(This poem is <i>intense</i>  in places.  Heed the warnings.  If you know Bucky's canon, you should have a pretty good idea what they're about.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He Never Stops Falling

**Author's Note:**

> This story spans many different times in Bucky's life. It also fills the "amnesia" square in [my 6-10-14 card](http://ysabetwordsmith.dreamwidth.org/9827916.html) for the fest.
> 
> A note on feedback: While it's not necessary to comment on every post I make, remember that I don't know who reads/likes things if nobody says anything. Particularly on long stories, I've discovered that I get antsy if there's nothing but crickets chirping for several posts. So it helps to give me feedback at least once, even if it's just "I like this" or "This one doesn't grab me." First and last episodes are ideal if you rarely feel inspired to comment in the middle.
> 
> Anonymous commenters: You don't have to specify exactly who you are, but it helps to have a first name or a username from some other service, so I have some idea of who's saying which and how many different "Anonymous" folks there are. You can just type some kind of identifier at the end of your comment.

It is 2013.

Bucky is alive.  
Bucky is dead.  
These two things  
are equally true.

 

It is 1943.

The shield is heavy  
in his hands as he charges,  
desperate to protect Steve,  
bullets pinging off the metal  
like deadly hailstones,  
pushing Bucky back  
until he falls.

He falls.

In his mind,  
he never stops falling.

 

It is 2013.

He knows this  
because he has been told.

He is flat on his back  
in an overstarched bed,  
too hurt and too sick to move  
and he doesn't know why,  
can't even remember his own name --

but Steve is there,  
wrong size, too big and tall,  
his clean scent and clear breathing  
so joyful to Bucky that the tears come

and he can't find his voice  
to tell them why, tell Steve  
that it's okay not to worry he's fine.

 

It is 1942.

Bucky has his marching papers.  
He's proud and he's scared.

Mostly he's scared for Steve who is  
liable to get his punk self killed  
without Bucky to protect him,  
but there's a war on, you know,  
and Bucky has to do his part.

He's _angry_ when he catches  
Steve trying to enlist, again,  
terrified that Steve might  
somehow succeed.

Bucky throws away Steve's papers  
and drags him home.

 

It's 2013.

She is beautiful and deadly  
like the knife that his hand recalls,  
her hair the color of sunset clouds  
and blood in a brick alley.

There was a little girl, once,  
with a face like that, pointed  
enough to make his heart bleed.

Bucky can't remember her name  
but she presses her thumb hard  
into his right palm like the hilt of a knife  
instead of just petting him.

She kisses his forehead and whispers,  
"Доверяй, но проверяй."  
 _Trust, but verify_.

He comprehends,  
but he doesn't understand.

 

It is 1940.

Bucky has a dame on each arm,  
but they're not both for him,  
they never are --

he always brings a spare  
for Steve, because  
Steve's too shy to get his own.

They're pretty in a pouty way,  
a blonde and a brunette:  
the blonde chesty and wild,  
the brunette slimmer and soft.

Bucky finds Steve and  
hands off the brunette to him  
so they can all go dancing.

Steve gives her a bashful grin  
and offers her his elbow.

It's fun for a while, until  
Bucky hears Steve wheezing  
and finds him in a corner.

"What the hell happened?"  
Bucky says, patting Steve  
on the cheek with anxious hands.

"Dancing," Steve gasps.  
"She left ... 'nother guy."

Bucky calls her a few names  
that he learned from the stevedores  
as he hoists Steve's skinny arm  
over his shoulders to help him home  
so that Steve can rest.

He forgets all about the blonde.

He forgets everything.

 

It is 2013.

Bucky can't remember  
anything but his own name,  
and Steve's of course because  
Steve is the brother of his soul,  
a bond deeper than blood or bone.

Steve is there, holding his right hand,  
and on the other side is a man,  
small and soft as a desk-jockey.

Bucky can feel them both,  
two sets of fingers twined with his,  
but they don't feel the same.

He looks down and sees  
that his left arm is metal,  
gleaming and hideous --

but the stranger strokes it,  
gently, slowly, like soothing a cat,  
as he says, "This is a prosthetic.  
Focus on my touch if you can.  
My name is Phil. Yours is Bucky.  
You faded out on us just now.  
How are you feeling?"

"Lost," says Bucky.

 

It is 1932.

Steve is down in an alley,  
getting the stuffing beat out of him  
over a wet wad of kitten  
that's crawled behind a trash can.

Bucky rips into the other two boys  
and they're bigger but he's meaner  
so he sends them running for their mamas.

He picks up Steve, dusts him off.

Steve is pouring blood from a split lip.  
"M'fine," he slurs, even though he isn't.  
"Find the kitty. They was gonna kill 'er."

Bucky finds the kitten.  
She scratches his arms all to hell.  
When Steve takes her, though, she purrs.

Figures.

 

It is 2013.

Bucky's hair is bugging him  
and he yanks on it, hard --  
sometimes he wishes that  
he could just rip it all out  
and be _done_ with it.

Gentle hands catch him  
by the wrist and carefully  
untangle the strands  
from around his fingers.

"Be nice to your hair, Bucky,"  
says Betty. She brushes away  
a few loose threads of brown.

"I _hate_ my fucking _hair,"_  
he snarls, helpless with rage  
that crashes over him  
in a sudden, drowning wave.

"You hate your hair,"  
Betty says, her voice even.  
"What else about it?"

The memories come bubbling up  
like water through cracked ice,  
threatening to suck him down --

rough hands shoving him  
into the cryochamber,  
waking up with his hair  
stuck to his face like cobwebs,  
hacking it off with a knife,  
again again never stays gone --

so that he has to gasp for air.  
"I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay," Betty says.  
"What about my hair, then?"

"It's pretty," says Bucky,  
because it is, never mind that  
she is Bruce's best girl, not his.

"Would you like to brush it?"  
she asks, and his hands remember  
the feel of a woman's hair, so soft.

She teaches him how to be gentle  
with the long dark locks of her hair.

She teaches him how to be gentle with himself.

 

It is 1943.

Bucky can feel  
the trees and the snow and  
the blood running from his body.

He wavers in and out of consciousness.

Captured. Enemy hands.

Harsh voices barking at each other  
in German, rough fingers on him,  
dragging him by the ankles --  
his head bumps over a rock  
and the pain puts him out again.

He wakes to someone  
sawing at his shoulder  
with an actual saw.

Screams himself hoarse.  
Starts fading out again.  
Wants to die.

Doesn't.


	2. Prosthetic Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and JARVIS help Bucky with the fragments of his memory.

It is 1938.

Bucky's whole body aches  
from a day hauling crates  
down on the docks  
but he's earned a little cash  
and two sandwiches --

one in his belly,  
filling about half the hole,

and one in his pocket,  
saved for Steve.

Bucky prays that his belly  
won't growl and give away  
the lie when he says,  
"I ate at work. I ain't hungry."

He presses the sandwich  
into Steve's bony hands  
and glares at him until  
the smaller boy gives in  
and bites into it.

 

It is 2013.

Tony has Bucky's left arm  
splayed open on a workbench,  
because Bucky dropped a barbell on it  
and it was making this faint grinding noise  
so Steve made him come to Tony for repairs.

It's hard, at first, because Bucky's head  
is a mess of memories and gaps,  
being strapped down while strangers  
did things to his body but never spoke to him.

Bucky stares at the wall  
while Steve explains what happened.

Then Tony opens his shirt  
and the flare of blue-white light  
draws Bucky's attention,  
moth to flame.

Tony takes Bucky's right hand  
and presses it over the arc reactor.

Bucky can feel it under his palm,  
round and smooth and warm;  
he wants to trace the edge of it  
but doesn't because that  
would spook Tony.

It's strange to look down  
into the jumble of rods and gears  
without feeling any pain --  
Tony had mapped the sensitive spots  
 _once_ and remembered them all --  
and Bucky feels nothing  
except a strange sense of detachment.

"There's the problem," Tony says,  
pointing a tool as delicate as a dental pick  
at one slim rod bent slightly out of place.  
"Now I can bend this bad boy back in shape,  
or I can replace it with something stronger.  
Driver's choice."

Bucky is so out of practice  
with choices that it hurts, sometimes,  
but he trusts Tony, trusts the hands  
so steady on the metal of him,  
pattern of old scars on the engineer's  
knuckles and backs already becoming familiar.

"What ... would you recommend?"  
Bucky manages to ask.

"Let us make you a new one,"  
Tony says. "JARVIS can scan this,  
send the specs to the fabrication floor,  
and have the replacement in a few minutes."

"Okay," Bucky says.

Light flickers over Bucky's arm,  
scanning the damaged part,  
and then JARVIS says,  
"Order in progress."

"While we wait, let's have a look around,"  
Tony says. "You should know what you've got."

Bucky shivers, then, and Tony looks at him.  
The arc reactor presses against Bucky's palm,  
reassuring him that they're in this together.

Tony's fingers in his forearm  
help Bucky feel like maybe  
this is _his,_ or could be,  
instead of just some _thing_  
that the enemy stuck on him.

"Show me," Bucky says.

 

It is 1943.

Bucky is dying.  
He knows that he is, because  
nobody ever comes back  
from the one-way door.

His voice is worn down  
to rust and gravel from repeating  
his name, rank, and serial number.

The HYDRA scientists  
are faceless behind their masks,  
uncaring as they push the needles  
into his body, time and again.

Bucky has no idea  
what they've drugged him with,  
only that it makes the room spin  
and time run like spilled honey.

Everything hurts.

He can't even remember  
what it felt like, not being in pain.

It will stop hurting  
when he finally dies,  
and he's okay with that,

although he feels bad  
about abandoning his men and,  
somewhere safe in America, Steve.

Bucky is hallucinating again,  
he must be, because now  
someone's leaning over him  
calling his name -- someone  
who looks like Steve, but _huge,_  
powerful hands snapping the restraints.

It can't be real.

"I thought you were dead,"  
the hallucination says.

"I thought you were smaller,"  
Bucky mumbles.

"I joined the Army,"  
and _yes,_ that is Steve's grin,  
half-proud and half-bashful  
because he knows he's going to get it  
as soon as Bucky can see straight.

It can't be real.

Bucky has dreamed  
of rescue before, though  
never by Steve, and it was always  
a bitter disappointment when he woke.

Tenderly Steve lifts him off the table  
and drapes Bucky's arm over shoulders  
that are suddenly as wide as a warehouse,  
reverse of a hundred New York afternoons.

Bucky buries his face in Steve's neck,  
smells the sharp rage-sweat and  
the fading rose perfume of French soap,  
a new note like the air before a storm  
and something under it all that's just _Steve,_  
warm and bright as eternal summer.

Oh, God, it's _real_.

 

It is 2013.

Bucky is a grown man  
and he can't for the life of him  
remember what he's supposed to do  
with his fucking _shoes_.

He stares at his toes, defeated.

A warm British voice comes to his rescue.  
"Bucky, you seem to have stalled  
in your preparations for working out."

"Yeah," Bucky says bitterly.

"Pick up your right shoe,"  
JARVIS says, just as if  
this is perfectly _normal_.

Bucky obeys.

"Slide your right foot into the open shoe,"  
JARVIS says, and when Bucky does,  
"Now tighten the laces. Tie a bow."

Bucky feels a faint flicker  
of accomplishment,  
which is pathetic, but  
he'll take what he can get.

He struggles to remember the steps  
for getting his left foot into the other shoe.  
JARVIS only has to prompt him once this time.

"Well done," JARVIS says,  
his voice so full of approval that  
Bucky can _hear_ the smile in it.  
"You are making excellent progress."

"This is _progress?"_ Bucky says.

"Your speed in personal care tasks  
has improved 15% since your arrival  
at Avengers Tower," says JARVIS.  
"Pauses and errors are down 12%."

Bucky closes his eyes,  
overwhelmed for a moment.  
It's small, but it's real,  
and someone is helping him  
keep track of that.

His mind is like camo netting,  
more holes than cloth these days,  
but at least he has backup.

"Now what?" Bucky asks.

His pocket vibrates.  
Bucky pulls out what  
is allegedly a telephone  
but is really more of a  
box-that-does-everything.

The screen lights up with  
his schedule for the day.  
The upper part is hazed out,  
ending with the lines,  
 _12 PM -- Lunch with team.  
Common floor kitchen_.

Below that in bright green  
appears the current task:  
 _12:45 PM -- Preparation for workout.  
Steve and Bucky's personal quarters_.

At the bottom in white  
is the next scheduled event:  
 _1 PM -- Light workout with Steve.  
Avengers gym floor_.

It's like a having another head  
on shoulders that aren't broken  
from the weight of war and torture,  
a way to organize things that  
Bucky just can't hold onto himself.

It's a prosthetic memory,  
like his metal arm in its skin glove  
replaces the one he lost in Germany,  
not the same, but functional in its own way.

JARVIS never loses patience with Bucky,  
never scolds him for zoning out  
or screwing up the order of the steps.

The flashbacks are still bad,  
because Bucky's memory is splintered  
like church windows after heavy shelling,

but JARVIS is always there,  
a smooth calm voice  
as strong as anchor cable  
reeling him back to the present.

Bucky flicks his fingertip  
across the screen of his phone,  
logging the 12:45 task complete.  
It fades, and the next one turns green,  
silent guidance as steady  
as a hand at his back.

He pockets the phone  
and heads to the elevator,  
leaning against the cool wall,  
feeling the graceful swoop underfoot  
as JARVIS carries him downward.

Bucky is desperately grateful  
that he can still do this,  
learn to trust someone new,  
not just Steve who is  
set into him too deep  
to remove entirely,  
though God and the Devil  
know that Department X _tried_.

"Avengers gym floor,"  
JARVIS says as the doors open,  
helping Bucky keep track of himself

until Steve is there to take over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Acceptance](http://changingminds.org/explanations/needs/acceptance.htm) is a basic human need. Bucky has trouble accepting himself, but the acceptance of his teamfamily helps.
> 
> Massage [soothes the body and mind](http://www.takingcharge.csh.umn.edu/explore-healing-practices/massage-therapy/how-does-massage-work). [Acupressure](http://www.herbalshop.com/Acupressure/Acupressure_45.html) can help relieve pain and tension, with points [along the slope of the shoulders](http://www.acupressure.com/blog/?p=344) and [shoulderblades](http://saveyourself.ca/articles/spot-14-infraspinatus.php#all_spots). Learn how to [give a good neck and shoulder rub](http://www.wikihow.com/Give-a-Neck-Massage).
> 
> [Medical torture](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Medical_torture) tends to have [lasting physical and psychological effects](http://survivorsoftorture.org/files/pdf/rasm-ros-reeves-keller2007injury.pdf), including difficulty accepting help or medical care. Tony deals with this by doing things to support Bucky's agency and keep him grounded in the here-and-now.
> 
> [Physical trust](http://mrob.com/pub/std/gaining-trust.html) is usually the foundation, but for some people it is harder than trusting someone with information or feelings. There are [exercises for building trust](http://www.pivotaleducation.com/assets/Uploads/pdfs/Trust-Exercises.pdf).
> 
> [Anxiety](http://www.futurity.org/why-making-a-choice-stresses-us-out/), [depression](http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3132433/), and other mental conditions can impair decisions. Know how to [work through the difficulty](http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2014/02/03/do-you-have-difficulty-making-decisions/).
> 
> [Disorientation](http://www.healthline.com/symptom/disorientation) and [confusion](http://www.nytimes.com/health/guides/symptoms/confusion/overview.html) are symptoms of many mental illnesses. [Stalling during routine tasks](http://www.interprofessional.ubc.ca/HealthAndWellbeing/presentations/D3_Grenon.pdf) is a sign of dementia. Some kind of [task manager](http://www.personalkanban.com/pk/primers/the-pen-managing-stalled-tasks/#sthash.k2TjlF2b.dpbs) can help.
> 
> JARVIS uses complex voice intonation to convey emotions and facial expressions. Yes, you really can [hear a smile](http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=18255131).
> 
> [Camo netting](http://www.camonettingstore.com/camo-netting/shop-by-size/10x10-military-style-camo-netting/mimic-camo-netting-rope-backed-medium-duty/) is a type of cloth full of holes for concealing things.
> 
> A [prosthetic memory](http://kumu.brocku.ca/robowiki/Prosthetic_Memory) augments or replaces a faulty natural one, using [memory aids](http://www.springerreference.com/docs/html/chapterdbid/183840.html) or more advanced technology. Although Bucky's need is greater, JARVIS was originally designed to help keep track of Tony's life because Tony sucks at doing that himself.


	3. All His Broken Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky remembers taking care of Steve. Bruce takes care of Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ends "The Life of the Dead." Thank you all for sticking with the series this far! I love your input. Final thoughts on the story overall are welcome, in addition to reactions on this specific chapter. I also have a list of favorite photogenic scenes from the whole series for fanartists to consider, partly compiled from audience requests.
> 
> A note on feedback: While it's not necessary to comment on every post I make, remember that I don't know who reads/likes things if nobody says anything. Particularly on long stories, I've discovered that I get antsy if there's nothing but crickets chirping for several posts. So it helps to give me feedback at least once, even if it's just "I like this" or "This one doesn't grab me." First and last episodes are ideal if you rarely feel inspired to comment in the middle.
> 
> Next up will be "If They Could Just Stay Little," a poem about Tony Carter.

It is 1929.

Bucky is worried half to _death_.

Steve has a fever  
'bout a million degrees and  
whatever the nuns are giving him  
ain't doing the trick this time  
and they can't afford a real doctor.

When he can get away for a little while,  
Bucky stands watch for the bootleggers,  
because his eyes are sharp as tacks  
and those fellas pay real well.

Bucky remembers his mama saying  
that cherry brandy was good for fever and coughs,  
and you couldn't buy it a store noway now,  
but that don't matter 'cause Bucky has _connections_.

It takes all afternoon to work out a deal  
and by the end of it Bucky owes some favors  
but he doesn't care because he's got  
a little clay jug tucked under his coat.

Bucky sneaks back into the orphanage  
without getting caught, sly as a cat's shadow.

He lifts up the loose floorboard to reveal  
the little stash of herbs and pills  
that he keeps for Steve,  
adding wild cherry bark and  
cinnamon and cloves to  
the first cup of brandy.

Steve sputters and coughs --  
he's _always_ coughing -- and  
whines about the taste of the brandy.

"It'll bring down the fever," Bucky tells him,  
and doesn't say aloud, _at least I hope it will_.

If nothing else it will knock him out for the night  
so that Steve doesn't have to _feel_ how sick he is.

Bucky sits beside him,  
listening to Steve wheeze and  
dabbing a wet rag over his flushed skin  
until the fever finally breaks.

That's 'bout the only time when  
Bucky prays and _means_ it.

 _Thank you, God_.

 

It is 2013.

Bucky lets himself lie back,  
the width of Bruce's hand  
a reassuring warmth behind his neck.

Steve stretches out beside him,  
carefully on the right side now,  
as far as possible from the field of  
insidious energy in Bucky's metal arm.

The lights dim, gradually fading  
until nothing remains but a faint glow  
along the baseboards to show where  
the doors and furniture are.

"Take a deep breath and let it out slowly,"  
Bruce says, his voice low and calm.

Bucky obeys, and Steve's breath  
wiffles warm and damp against his skin.

"Anything you're still thinking about from today,  
take a minute to consider it," Bruce says.

Bucky thinks about the ball game on TV,  
a sparring match with Clint and Natasha,  
Tony's latest idea for a new prosthetic arm,  
and Phil's praise of Bucky's marksmanship score.

"Now set it aside," Bruce says,  
and Bucky struggles to follow --  
managing his mind is like trying  
to bail molasses with his hands,  
but it's getting easier with practice.

"Just breathe," Bruce says, and Bucky does.  
"You don't need to think about anything.  
Listen to the sound of my voice."

Bucky is melting into the mattress now,  
might as well be sleeping on a cloud,  
and he can't at the moment recall  
what it was like to sleep on rocks.

Beside him, Steve is already out like a light,  
the low clear sound of his breath  
as soothing to Bucky as Bruce's voice.

"Focus on your feet. Clench your toes,"  
Bruce says, and Bucky follows along,  
feeling the blanket shift along his skin.  
"Relax. Imagine your feet floating away,  
like little pink clouds in the night sky."

Bucky is drifting now, the memories  
that make up his _self_ dissolving  
as he sinks down toward sleep.

"Tense your calves. Feel how tired  
they are after the long day," Bruce says.  
"Loosen up and let them rest."

It still feels like dying every time,  
but Bucky is getting used to that.  
It's not so bad anymore, doesn't hurt  
the way it used to, not with someone  
to lower him down gently into darkness.

Bucky is learning how to let go without feeling afraid.

 

It is Christmas.

Bucky is crowded onto a bench  
with four other boys, but  
he's not paying attention to them.

Stevie is sitting by himself,  
trying not to cry because  
the orphanage is new and scary  
and he doesn't know yet that  
none of the presents have names  
on them because everyone gets something  
more-or-less at random.

"Hey, Stevie," says Bucky,  
poking him gently with a package  
wrapped in Sunday funnies.  
"You wanna open one?"

Hesitantly Stevie takes it,  
something inside rustling  
as the box tilts in his tiny hands.

They're scuffed all across  
the backs of his knuckles from fighting,  
not because the kid's a bully,

but because Stevie doesn't like bullies  
and won't stand for it when they're hurting  
someone even littler than him.

Bucky's had to rescue him a dozen times already.

Stevie peels off the paper real easy,  
so it doesn't rip and they can  
make something else with it later.  
"It's a puzzle!" he says happily.  
"I can do puzzles."

Bucky is learning there are a lot of things  
that Stevie can't -- or shouldn't -- do.  
It's good that this is one he can.

"Looks like some trees, maybe?"  
Bucky says, stirring the pieces.

 _"Before Day Breaks,"_ Stevie reads  
as he peers at the box.

"Let's put it together," Bucky says,  
scrambling onto the floor.  
Stevie follows.

Bucky forgets all about getting a gift for himself,  
until Sister Mary Bridget brings him one  
that turns out to be a bag of marbles.

"See, this is something you can play too,"  
Bucky says. "We can share it."

"I dunno how to play," Stevie says,  
but he pokes at the glass spheres,  
some black-and-white, or green-and-yellow,  
even a few red-white-and-blue.

"I'll teach you," Bucky says.  
Stevie grins at him and nods eagerly.

It's the best Christmas that Bucky can remember.

 

It is 2013.

Bucky is living the life of the dead.

Each night that he sleeps,  
he dies, losing himself  
and all that he has been.

Each morning that he awakes,  
he is reborn, empty as an infant until  
someone pours him back into himself.

By day he exercises in the gym,  
cooks in the kitchen, repairs things,  
or lounges in the common room  
with the other Avengers.

He looks around at them --  
 _team, family, home --_  
the people holding him tight

until all his broken pieces stick back together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Prohibition Era](http://www.historicpatterson.org/Exhibits/ExhProhibition.php) 1920-1933. Young people often served as lookouts for the bootleggers to earn extra money.
> 
> [Cherry brandy](http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3117141/), along with other cherry derivatives, is a folk remedy for [fever and coughs](http://www.herballegacy.com/Fever.html).
> 
> [Herbal cough remedies](http://www.twineagles.org/herbal-cough-remedies.html) include a lot of different things. This one with sage and thyme [uses brandy and honey as a base](http://gardnerh.wordpress.com/2013/07/29/herbal-remedies-sage-thyme/). There's a [cherry one on this page](http://www.healing-from-home-remedies.com/home-made-cough-syrup.html). Here's a video tutorial for an [elderberry cough/cold syrup](http://www.crunchybetty.com/elderberry-cough-and-cold-syrup-recipe-video-tutorial).
> 
> Meditation [helps people fall asleep](http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/sleepless-in-america/201401/mindful-sleep). Watch a [video for relaxation and sleep](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a8LjxXSxBeA). There are scripts for [chakra work](http://www.mindbodygreen.com/0-4852/Simple-Meditation-for-Awesome-Sleep.html), [relaxation](http://www.innerhealthstudio.com/sleep-relaxation.html), and [mindful sleep](http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/07/15/meditation-in-action-mindfulness-sleep_n_3586716.html). Learn how to [write](http://www.the-guided-meditation-site.com/write-a-guided-meditation.html) and [record](http://www.the-guided-meditation-site.com/create-a-guided-meditation.html) a guided meditation.
> 
> [Jigsaw puzzles](http://www.jigsaw-puzzle.org/jigsaw-puzzle-history.html) have a long history. Here is the [box](http://ysabetwordsmith.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/20474/405737) and [puzzle image](http://ysabetwordsmith.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/20474/405797) for "Before Day Breaks," a wooden jigsaw puzzle dating from the 1920s.
> 
> [Marbles](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marble_\(toy\)) are collectibles because the [vintage ones](http://www.collectorsweekly.com/art-glass/marbles) are [different from modern ones](http://www.ebay.com/gds/6-Differences-Between-Old-and-New-Marbles-/10000000177633979/g.html). These are some [early machine-made marbles](http://www.buymarbles.com/machinemade_early.html). [Bucky's set](http://ysabetwordsmith.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/20474/406208) comes from the Peltier Company dated 1920.
> 
> Marbles have their own [etiquette and vocabular](http://www.ducksters.com/games/marbles.php)y, and can be used to play [many games](http://www.kingofalltechnology.com/marblegames.htm), Learn how to play the classic [ringers and bullseye](http://www.wikihow.com/Play-Marbles) games.

**Author's Note:**

> "The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living."  
> \-- [Marcus Tullius Cicero](http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/m/marcustull117967.html)
> 
> Multiple scenes in this poem come from the two Captain America movies [The First Avenger](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Captain_America:_The_First_Avenger) and [The Winter Soldier](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Captain_America:_The_Winter_Soldier).
> 
> "Доверяй, но проверяй."  
>  _Trust, but verify_.  
>  \-- [Russian proverb](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trust,_but_verify)
> 
> "She understands, but she doesn't comprehend."  
> \-- [River Tam](http://serenityverse.com/firefly/river-quotes/)
> 
> [PTSD in the family](http://www.helpguide.org/articles/ptsd-trauma/ptsd-in-the-family.htm) means learning how to help someone through [dissociation](http://ptsd.about.com/od/selfhelp/a/flashcoping.htm) or [flashbacks](http://sometimesmagical.wordpress.com/2013/10/26/supporting-a-loved-one-through-ptsd-or-panic-attacks/).
> 
> [People debate](http://forums.psychcentral.com/ocd-trichotillomania/27351-hair-pulling-self-harm.html) whether hair-pulling [counts as self-harm](http://www.elementsbehavioralhealth.com/mental-health/compulsive-self-mutilation/) or is [something different](http://trichotillomania.wordpress.com/2007/08/15/hair-pulling-just-another-form-of-self-harm-or-a-disorder-in-itself/). I think it can be either, depending on context. Bucky is pretty clear about hating this part of himself; sometimes the damage is accidental but other times deliberate. He also came about it from a different angle than most people -- it's a reaction to his POW abuse, loss of body autonomy, and especially the timebending effects of the cryochamber. There are ways to [cope with hair-pulling](http://www.wikihow.com/Cope-with-Trichotillomania).
> 
> [Gentleness](http://virtuefirst.org/virtues/gentleness/) is a virtue that can be [taught and learned](http://www.neverhitachild.org/gentle.html). Being gentle with yourself is the [virtue of self-compassion](http://self-compassion.org/UTserver/pubs/LearyChap.pdf), which can [also be learned](http://www.goodtherapy.org/blog/how-to-turn-self-hatred-into-self-compassion-1112135).
> 
> [Suicidal thoughts](http://www.nasponline.org/resources/intonline/nas-cbiii-05-1001-017-r02.pdf) may correspond to [experiences of torture](http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/9479680). [Helping torture victims](http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC1079554/) is difficult but possible. There is various advice on [avoiding or coping with torture](http://www.quora.com/Whats-the-best-thing-to-do-if-being-or-going-to-be-tortured). [Professional assistance](http://kspope.com/torvic/torture1.php) is often needed to recover.


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